Sours on the Rocks

At Thomas she just shrugged her shoulders. “Imagine trying to get her home from some friends and then three of those turn out to be in the upper leagues of mortal magic, two of them Card Carrying Wizards. That kinda dampened the enthusiasm I gather.”

Not to mention the crazy Vampire-hunter boyfriend.

“But yeah,” She continued. “For obvious reasons I’m a bit protective of her. Not that I’d ever suspect that of a White Court Vampire.”

Not that they’d be looked fondly upon for harboring somebody looking to flee from another House, but that wasn’t precisely the case, either.

He wasn’t really sure what Jess meant to imply that she would or wouldn’t suspect of a vampire, either, but the whole situation seemed like a bit of an overreaction. Perhaps he hadn’t been paying very much attention to internal politics, but then, it sounded like Miele hadn’t been in much of a situation to do so, either.

Mostly, he found himself suspicious of her. He was a bit hard-pressed to believe that she really would be on the run, that she really would have wanted to turn her back on her family. Even he had ultimately just gone right back, and he didn’t think he’d been wrong to do so. Only, he wasn’t sure what she stood to gain by lying, and her fear hadn’t appeared feigned.

He just shrugged. “If you’re that worried about it, I’ll take off,” he said simply. A small smirk tugged at his mouth. “I’ve got no shortage of things to do around here.”

There was a moment of sincere consideration on her part.  Thomas had not lied about what he was to her, and even considering that he had not made any untoward comments or actions that set off her warning lights.  Her fear had been triggered by surprise, not anything grounded in his behavior.

And he was amusing, especially when drunk.

She shook her head, raising her hand in deference.  “I have no issue with you staying.  Even if you did turn out to be a militant stripper,” Miele scoffed, “I am totally stealing that term.  Heh.  But even if you were, I doubt you’d be able to find me after tonight is over.  And since I’m pretty sure you aren’t, I refuse to let you leave until you and Madame de Fer here have tried to drink one another under the table.  I insist on trying, even knowing you aren’t human.”

Her smile was genuine, though not as warm as it had been before.  There was a strange blend of cool disconnect and smugness in her features.  “I haven’t seen her try to out-drink a member of the Court before.  I don’t think she can.”

“I swear. Pinkie Promise.” She assured her friend with another squeeze of the shoulder. “And hey, you only get kidnapped by other White Court Vampires when I’m not around.”  Jess added with a smile, the joking tone sugaring the truth a bit.

We all know, she’s been kidnapped by her crazy relatives often enough to make anyone paranoid. 

Deciding that after the dinner, she’d take Miele back home to her place and get her a few shots of Stone Monkey’s rice wine to calm her down. Thomas, apparently, did take the revelation in better stride from the looks of it.

Jess’s convenient commentary made clear why ‘Miele’ wasn’t fond of the Court, although the picture that it painted wasn’t really all that clear, either. Why would anybody arbitrarily kidnap her? Whose style was that? His family had always opted directly for murder, at least when it came to him.

He lifted an eyebrow at Jess’s remark. “I do have a sweet butt,” he pointed out quite reasonably, before looking back at… Miele? He wasn’t entirely sure what title either one of them was thinking of, but he’d expected that he wouldn’t actually see her again after Mardi Gras. Was that still the case? How effectively could she avoid the Court forever? That hadn’t gone all that well for him.

“I prefer my name,” he said with a shrug. “I won’t necessarily realize you’re talking to me otherwise, Melissa. What’s this about kidnapping?”

Don’t take my lying about my identity personally.  Hah.  Who would do that?

She set the glass back on the table, her finger resting on the rim and brushing against it back and forth, slowly, as she considered her answer.  She wasn’t sure she wanted to explain this for a stranger.  At the same time, they might never see each other again.  Did it matter?  She couldn’t drink away the anxiety so she could slip back into a calm, cold persona and forget it that way.  I miss Zahir.  After another moment for thought, Miele smiled slightly.  It didn’t quite meet her eyes, and it looked decidedly...grim.

“I suppose you could say I have a rocky relationship with the rest of my family.  I am the third child, so my elder siblings stuck me with the dangerous or boring jobs they didn’t like.  I run off, they send snipers, I avoid death, they send a kidnapper who shoots out my kneecaps...Wizard friends save me,” she glanced sideways at Jess, and her expression softened slightly, without intending to, “They send bigger fish, more kidnapping, more saving.  Rinse and repeat.”

“Though it’s been...tch-tch-tch, five years since anything incredibly dangerous.  I would apologize for my reaction, but I think it’s entirely justified,” Miele shrugged, “I wouldn’t even be surprised if they sent a stripper after me.”

Though as Miele beside her went in meltdown, she just sighed. I’m just glad Zahir isn’t here or there would be a lot of angry attempted stabbing right now, Jess had to admit to herself with a slight smile before she looked straight into the female vampire’s eyes.

“Relax. He’s one of the tolerable ones.” She said in an assuring tone. “If he wasn’t, wouldn’t I already have punched him? No matter how cute an butt he has.” Jess added with a wink, despite the after-smell of despair creeping out of her friend. Adding some more strength to her words she reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Calm down, he’ll not hurt you.”

Giving Thomas a look, she shrugged slightly. “She has some…past issues with the Court.”

His own eyes remained quite blue, but narrowed suspiciously at her reaction. Her anxiety was very nearly palpable in the air, and he could hear her rapid breathing and heartrate if he listened for it. Even if he wasn’t, he could see the rise and fall of her chest. What could she possibly be so afraid of?

He didn’t recognize her, but then, he supposed that he wouldn’t. She’d said that she didn’t live in Chicago, so he wouldn’t have seen her around the chateau. She wasn’t family, either, and he didn’t recognize her name. So she lived overseas, perhaps in one of the Court’s other properties. What was the big deal?

Distantly, he recalled something that Jess had said to him on Halloween. She’d said something about having a friend like him. He recalled being surprised that she knew another vampire, and she’d mentioned something about one of the other Houses. He hadn’t inquired further. He couldn’t even recall which House, although he suspected that he could guess.

His eyes moved between the two, but the casual smile never left his features. Jess was already explaining that he was ‘tolerable,’ and he wasn’t certain how much of a compliment that was supposed to be, but from the context, it seemed that Melissa expected him to hurt her.

“I see,” he said. “I don’t know anything about that.” He shrugged at Melissa. “I’m afraid I don’t recognize you, but you did say you’re not from Chicago. I suppose I should introduce myself properly, then. Thomas Raith. I’m sure you know some of my family.”

Miele’s eyes remained white and frightened, but her breathing slowly began to reign back in.  She raised her hands from the table to something at her neck, like she was looking for something that she usually wore but wasn’t a part of her apparel right now.  It hurt her effort at calming down that it wasn’t, but Jess’ hand on her shoulder helped.  She’s so used to the cold now.  “...you swear?” she said in a whisper, returning her eyes to Thomas, but still speaking to Jess.

Thomas hadn’t made any sudden movements, which was a good sign at least.  He even gave her his full name which did...varying things to her fears.  The fact that he wasn’t a Skavis immediately quelled her initial fears.  But on that note.

“...Raith.  Really?  I--” she paused, and then raised a hand to her face and planted it firmly against it, pushing her mask up into her hair as she did so.  A White Court in Chicago, and a Raith at that.  A Raith in Chicago.  Of all the Raiths it could have been, I.  Am.  Having.  Dinner.  With.  The.  King’s.  Son.  She didn’t say anything on that, yet, only giving a small groan. 

“Figures.  Urgh.  Fuck.  Of all the times that I can’t drink.  Empty Night...”

Her hand slowly dropped from her face, mask left up in her hair, showing her weary and bitter and decidedly done expression.  “Miele Tetro, of the Skavis family.  It is an honor to meet you, and a bit of a horror,” her voice wasn’t even trying to hide the tired sarcasm she had in her tone, “Do you still mind me calling you Mesh, or do you want me to stick a title or ‘cugino’ somewhere?”

Oh, she doesn’t know…

This did explain a lot. Like why she was running around with someone who was arguably two heartbeats away from the throne of the White Court of Vampires without having a panic attack big enough to be heard in Canada.

For a moment she considered not telling her, just to prevent that freakout. Or to keep Thomas privacy. But then she decided Miele was a  closer friend and she deserved to know who she let, metaphorically, in her bed.

“He?” She pointed at Thomas. “He’s a Vampire.” She then said, deciding to let him explain the details.

Miele's reaction was instantaneous.

The hazel in her eyes, which were still looking straight forward at Thomas, faded into a murky, silver-flecked gray and her already pale face somehow managed to grow even paler.  It wasn’t anger or surprise, however, that clearly painted itself into her features.  It was horror.  The air around her suddenly grew colder, almost heavier, and the glass at her finger-tips fogged from the shift in temperature.  “You--?” her voice was barely audible, “You’re a...?”

Fuck.  Fuck!  I ran right into him.  He was giving me all the hints.  I didn’t think twice about it!  He’s going to kill me.  Isn’t he?!  Why hasn’t he tried it yet?!  Is he going to?  He has to!  I can’t go back.  I don’t want to do back!  I--I--I--

Her silver eyes landed on Jess, pleadingly, as her breathing picked up.

Why didn’t she warn me sooner?  Isn’t she afraid?  Why isn’t she?! 

I don’t want to go back!!

If nothing else, it certainly seemed to confirm that she wasn’t wholly ignorant to the world, although he’d expected as much from her association with Jess. He wasn’t sure who Il Topolino or something was, whether it was her husband or some other friend, and he didn’t understand the Italian phrase at all, but the individual in question was evidently some kind of talent.

Bottle in mouth once again, he just took the explanation in stride, but at Jess’s accusation, he lifted his eyebrows in amusement and cast her a skeptical look.

“What kind of rumors are you trying to spread?” he accused her, then shrugged. “Not that I mind or anything. Go all out. I’ll corroborate any story you like. But I’m pretty sure it didn’t even involve any tongue. I was very boring. I really ought to apologize.”

He made no move to do so, and instead he grinned at the recollection of what had, perhaps, been one of the only few truly fun aspects of that evening: his competition with Molly. The bet he’d won, and had then lied about so that he could lose it instead. He didn’t regret it. It had been fun.

Only, he couldn’t remember if Jess had actually worked out that it had been a competition. It probably wouldn’t have stopped him; the bet just gave him an excuse to do what he most likely would have spent the party doing anyway, but it seemed like it’d probably give Melissa the wrong impression, and she was looking sheepish enough the way she’d been averting her eyes practically since they’d sat down.

“Our little alchemist might be disappointed that you didn’t offer him an invite,” she gave Thomas a glance, eyes hazel again, trying to gauge his reaction.

“No, rumors of whatever you meant to make Melissa think with your earlier remark,” he said slowly, tilting his head to indicate Melissa. He shrugged. “It’s not important.”

He wasn’t really sure what compatriots Melissa had meant, or to what “other” job Jess was alluding, but he suspected that he wouldn’t really know much about those things either way.

Not my type of fun, but I’m sure she got a kick out of it.

Maybe literally.

It is Jess after all.

Thomas seemed a little lost. With her order in mind, Miele lowered her menu and gave him a small, warm smile. “I apologize for all the inside references. Would you like to take control of the conversation for a while, Mesh? If you and Thatcher met at a party for…well, people pf unusual taste and professions, shall we say,” she shrugged her shoulders, “Would you mind my asking what you do? Are you a practitioner?”

“And I heard that from Sparky already. Sadly, things came in between. For example his tongue between my lips.” She pointed out and gestured at Thomas. 

If nothing else, it certainly seemed to confirm that she wasn’t wholly ignorant to the world, although he’d expected as much from her association with Jess. He wasn’t sure who Il Topolino or something was, whether it was her husband or some other friend, and he didn’t understand the Italian phrase at all, but the individual in question was evidently some kind of talent.

Bottle in mouth once again, he just took the explanation in stride, but at Jess’s accusation, he lifted his eyebrows in amusement and cast her a skeptical look.

“What kind of rumors are you trying to spread?” he accused her, then shrugged. “Not that I mind or anything. Go all out. I’ll corroborate any story you like. But I’m pretty sure it didn’t even involve any tongue. I was very boring. I really ought to apologize.”

He made no move to do so, and instead he grinned at the recollection of what had, perhaps, been one of the only few truly fun aspects of that evening: his competition with Molly. The bet he’d won, and had then lied about so that he could lose it instead. He didn’t regret it. It had been fun.

Only, he couldn’t remember if Jess had actually worked out that it had been a competition. It probably wouldn’t have stopped him; the bet just gave him an excuse to do what he most likely would have spent the party doing anyway, but it seemed like it’d probably give Melissa the wrong impression, and she was looking sheepish enough the way she’d been averting her eyes practically since they’d sat down.

“Our little alchemist might be disappointed that you didn’t offer him an invite,” she gave Thomas a glance, eyes hazel again, trying to gauge his reaction.

“How’s it hanging ‘Harry?’” Jess asked him with a crooked smirk as she righted herself up from Miele’s head-height again. “Also, I vote for table, I hadn’t anything that wasn’t donuts and coffee for the last 24 hours.”

Small world, he decided, but then, he’d already known that. It was just that the small world was supposed to be confined to Chicago and its supernatural community. He had meant to stay incognito in New Orleans.

Oh well. He couldn’t do much about it, and at least it was interesting. He shrugged lightly and nodded his own agreement to the cute hostess, who, luckily enough, seemed plenty distracted by the impromptu spectacle and said nothing about his whiskey bottle.

He glanced back over at Jess and flashed her a wry smile. Really, it was all a bit strange. Why would Jess, who seemed to be from the States, be the mysterious friend of the Italian-slash-Istanbul…ian stranger? There had to be a story there.

“You in the area for Mardi Gras, too?” he asked before he turned to follow the hostess to one of the tables. “Or did you get tired of spreading the kung-fu message far and wide and decided to settle down?”

The three of them were seated at a nice round table with a chair on each side but one, which was against the wall.  Miele took the seat that had the clearest view of the door on instinct.  Zahir would be so proud of me.  The hostess handed everyone a menu, gave Thomas one last look, and went back to the front of the restaurant.  “I think we need to leave a nice tip already,” Miele mumbled, her smirk returning but keeping her eyes cast down so her mask hid them.  Whatever Thomas was she didn’t want him to see their change. 

“So that’s where you were for Halloween.  You missed a fun little party, dear.  Il topolino made a new concoction that tastes like pumpkin pie and turns your eyes orange.  Sparky blew up a jack-o-lantern.  It was a weird night.”

May as well not dance around the magic words anymore.

Alas, she hadn’t believed the warnings of her colleagues and had been working almost non-stop with only a few power naps and meditations. In fact, to get the time to meet Miele she had to bribe another detective with taking over a few weekend shifts. Either way, she entered the place and without fail located the pretty noticeable orange hair of her favorite vampire in the world telling the waiter how many seats they needed.

“…Me!” Jess said, stepping up behind Miele. “And we’d like one high chair please.” She added with a grin as she put her arms under Miele’s armpits and simply lifted her like a small child and hugged her to her chest like a teddy bear.

He wasn’t so sure that he ought to be bringing his whiskey bottle into the restaurant, but he figured he’d give it a try and see how lenient the staff would be under the circumstances, and if that failed, perhaps fluttering his eyelashes at them might do the trick. It was worth a shot. He followed her inside, his eyes taking in the place. At least the dress code was accommodating enough, if perhaps just temporarily. He expected that the restaurants probably all stood to lose considerable business if they enforced their standard policies too heavily this time of year.

He flashed the woman who greeted them a charming smile when she looked at him, aiming to distract her from the bottle that he was carrying. She looked flattered by the attention. She was quite pretty, too. It wasn’t any hardship at all to run his eyes lightly over her while Melissa handled the questions.

A voice from behind them interjected suddenly, and he frowned and turned around, wondering whether this was, in fact, Jessica, or if some drunk stranger had decided to play a pointless prank–but at the sight of the woman lifting Melissa into the air, he knew all at once that it was indeed Melissa’s friend. Because Melissa wasn’t pissed, for starters. But also, because he knew that her name was–

“Jess?” he asked, sounding rather startled, recognition in his eyes.

Sure, she wasn’t wearing quite the same getup that she had worn on Halloween, but she was rather difficult to mistake for anybody else. She had mentioned at the time that she wasn’t a Chicago local. She’d said something about wandering. Why not wander to New Orleans? Seemed as good a place as any, especially for Mardi Gras.

But also, that carried another implication entirely. His eyes slid back over towards Melissa. Surely, she must know of Jess’s set of talents, then. Another practitioner? He hadn’t even thought to ask. He never asked. Most people weren’t.

“We’ve met,” he said slowly.

“Wait, you--Thatcher for fuck’s sake put me down,” she grumbled and tried to squirm one last time out of the much stronger woman’s arms, “You know her?”

Is he another Council member?  A small talent?  A stripper from her last “job”?  That last one makes a little more sense in context.  Magical stripper?  Why do I always find the weird ones when I’m not trying to.

She gave Thomas a much more curious look.  He looked just as confused.

...it would explain that feeling I got from him.

“Um...so three.  Bar or table?”  the hostess looked at Jess for confirmation.

“Fair enough,” he agreed.

It wasn’t bound to matter any, regardless. He had no sinister plans for her. All the more because she was evidently married. His eyes moved to her hand as she lifted it conveniently for him, but he could see nothing through the glove. That was thoughtful of her. So she was married, and it might even have been love. That made her even more of a rarity on the streets at present.

“Blurry?” he echoed, a bit curious, not understanding what she meant.

She turned the question around on him, and he didn’t immediately respond. He wasn’t sure what he ought to say. Technically, the answer was yes. That answer was quite effective at persuading people that he meant well, but she hadn’t actually expressed any suspicions otherwise. She’d only provided a brief warning about her friend, one that he’d effectively requested.

But did he really have reason to lie? He was never going to see her again. It hardly mattered what he told her. It wouldn’t get around to the people from whom he wanted to keep that information, from whom he meant to keep Justine safe. But he wasn’t really accustomed to freely distributing truths about himself, particularly when there might be a chance, no matter how slim, that she might become in some way involved. So he shook his head, even though Melissa wouldn’t be able to see it.

“Shame.  A man like you being single means there may be no hope for the rest of them.  If the karaoke bar was an indication, at least.  Ah,”  Miele stopped in her steps and gestured up to a balcony in front of them, “We’re here.”

The sign hanging from the bottom of the iron balcony was surprisingly plain: a blue swirling pattern against a yellow background with the restaurants’ name, NOLA, in uppercase letters above it.  There wasn’t much of a crowd outside but the inside was busy--not packed, but there was a pleasant amount of white noise from those chatting inside, all in various states of “normal” wear to full fledged costumes.  Miele stepped inside and started peering around the front of the restaurant, which was open to the main dining room on the right and a small but attractive looking bar on the left, as a young, female server at the front desk gave them a smile. 

“Evening.  How many are in your party?” she asked politely.

Miele pretended not to see that the server was looking right at Thomas.  Oi.  “Three,” she answered in turn still looking around, “Me, him, and...”

That didn’t seem too difficult. He didn’t think that he was ordinarily creepy, and he wasn’t particularly interested in grabbing people who didn’t want to be grabbed–particularly with such a fine selection of people surrounding him and filling the streets who very much did want to be grabbed. It was almost tempting to allow himself to become lost in the crowd, but he had plenty of time.

He laughed at Melissa’s drinking game instructions, and that he could certainly do. But it did also make him realize that perhaps downing an entire bottle of whiskey without significant effect would raise some suspicions. It likely didn’t matter. Humans were remarkably talented at explaining away strange events. Besides, even if she gave it thought, ‘vampire’ wasn’t an obvious explanation. There wasn’t any chance that she’d somehow stumble upon the right answer.

“Barely half of it so far,” he piped up, jiggling the bottle that he held. “Still working on it. My tolerance is pretty good, but if I’m already a bottle ahead of her that sounds a little unfair.” He shrugged. “Sounds like fun, though!”

Ah, Melissa had a partner, and one to whom she was evidently rather faithful, if the idea of offending him or her with something so innocuous was enough to deter her. Well, that wasn’t a particularly uncommon reaction, either. He could still feel the hostile gazes from the karaoke bar.

“Sure,” he agreed indifferently. “Though your partner’s welcome, too. I’m not propositioning you.” He chuckled. “That’d be a bit sloppy. Mardi Gras in New Orleans, and my line is that I’d show you around in another city at another time? Needs work.” He lifted his eyebrows, navigating neatly around a woman who had just stopped to fidget with something on her shoe. She glanced up to spot him and her eyes tracked him with interest as he passed. Tempting. “Though if your partner minds something like that, you sure it’s okay to be wandering around with me here?” he asked, forcing himself to keep his gaze on Melissa.

He shook his head. “No reference. Not really,” he lied smoothly. “It’s just named for the bug. I’m not very creative. Italy and Istanbul? That sounds fun. I haven’t really spent much time in Europe. And you met your partner there, I assume? Are you married?”

Miele chuckled and nodded partially in agreement as Thomas commented on his not-flirtation skills.  Considering she had the romantic tact of, well, a Skavis, she wasn’t one to judge in any case.  He asked about her partner and she smiled a little more.  “He’s back home and working hard, and he knows I’m with friends.  It’s...more a matter of familiarity.  We come here often enough that he knows I’ll be fine, but I can’t say the same about Chicago.”  Especially since he would rather much blow up the chateau than sight-see.  Some things don’t die.

“Technically we first met in Cartagena, but yes.  And yes,” she raised her left hand, remembered it was gloved, and shrugged, “We’ve been married for...three years now.”  Three years since October.  “But we’ve been together for about seven.  Eight?”  Miele pursed her lips in thought and stepped over a broken bottle, “It was a blurry couple of months at the start.  Worth it, though.”

From his tone of voice it was clear that he expected little else than to piss Melissa’s friend off. It was practically his primary superpower. Everybody either wanted to sleep with him or murder him, and often both simultaneously, which was almost ironic under the circumstances. But it sounded like the girl they were meeting up with was probably a bit aggressive. He wasn’t too sure how to feel about that. He wasn’t all that fond of aggressive women. They were a bit difficult to deal with.

Still, there was shrimp and he could play nice for a little while. It wasn’t a big deal. Maybe they’d get along. It would probably be interesting either way, and perhaps fun. He was always willing to show up and find out for himself.

Melissa glanced back at him after a moment, and he caught the motion in his peripheral vision, his own eyes on a pair of girls putting on a rather obviously exaggerated show for beads–or just for the guys within line of sight. Who was he to judge? It took him a moment to pull his own gaze away, but by the time he looked back at her, Melissa had already turned away again. Probably just checking that she hadn’t lost him in the crowd, he decided.

He finished off a bit more of the bottle as they walked, and Melissa apparently received confirmation from her friend. He made a sound of assent that was probably lost in the crowd. Then he snorted at her conclusion.

“Call me what you like,” he said cheerfully. “Doesn’t really matter. It’s pretty unlikely we’ll see each other again, right? I don’t travel overseas much. Can’t stand the long flights. And it sounds like you’re not in my corner of the world all that much, though you’re welcome to look me up if you happen to be in the area. I’d be happy to show you around.”

He smiled at her, although the smile was mostly just directed at her back. His eyes briefly lingered on her figure because it was there and it looked nice, and he didn’t really need an excuse.

His comment on never seeing each other again made her snicker.  “Fairly unlikely.  But it is a small world.  And as good a conversationalist as you’ve been thus far, I’m not sure my partner would want me looking you up if I ever wound up in your neighborhood.”  She would never bring Zahir to Chicago.  There was too much magic in the area, and too many opportunities for him to be hurt.  And there was that pesky matter of one of the King’s properties being within spitting distance. 

Why Jess ever visits is beyond me.